A hooker's Liner
by Batya000
Summary: Oc/Oc
1. PROLOGUE

**A hooker's Liner.**

PROLOGUE

An Information broker; Jazz had in his archives the world's disposition, by profession and by character. It always ensued to be nothing but a game. Information was just a click away, a call away-, at least for him it was. The deal was simple; make Aksel Naess disclose his apparent lack of faithfulness for the mob, just enough for him to get… eliminated.

Jazz leered as his hands joined "So, you want me to find a valid excuse to kill an innocent man?" Not in the least accusatory, the tone of his voice enquired into something closer to inquisitiveness. Judging by how the person in question looked like in photos, his client could very well be one of his relatives.

The man snickered deviously and responded, "A _valid excuse_ traduces to simply a _reason_ , isn't that right Mr. Informant?"

"Right, Right and please," His hand shook slightly, "Call me as everyone else does," he reclined on his seat, "Nakura is fine."

"Mr. Nakura." The man nodded, "Are we clear in our request? Or shall we delve in deeper about given essentials?"

"No," Jazz shrugged, "It's not that I won't find out anyway."

…

"Hah," the man laughed amused, "They warned me about you, Nakura Jazz."

Jazz placed both palms on his own cheeks and snickered childishly, "I'm no stranger to that." He sighed, "Now, I have everything I need to begin and I'll give you the first report from today within a week. You can now leave my office fully knowing that I'll comply," He politely signalized at his door.

The man nodded as he stood up "I hope it's worth every single coin that we have paid for your services."

Jazz leered, "You said you heard about me, didn't you?"

"The best man for this work," the man nodded, "or so we truly expect."

"I am. Trust my word on that."

The man simpered satisfied and left.

How came that the least upright person in the world gave in so much trustfulness for strangers? Unstainable reputation when it came to his unsullied profession- he figured.

Now Jazz just had to figure out just how necessary it would be to meet his victim- Aksel Naess. 'Norwegian' his tongue clicked as he read the papers on his hands. "Dear lord, what a handsome face" He chuckled. "Well, hopefully, this will be at least, entertaining."

O

O

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 **AN/** One of the most impactful animes (for two characters) I've cherished for a long time, contains this more than effortlessly _badass_ professions that I finally ventured to write about in one of these characters. Izaya Orihara was an "Information broker" and since I read a lot about his profession back in the day when I wrote about him, I think I'm pretty educated in how they work.

However, I don't plan in having Jazz to be anything else than Jazz with this badass profession for plot-drive. Only because it allows me to come close to the story you suggested. Without it, I don't see why a criminal organization would ever call for a complete random clueless person to catch up on Aksel's treacherousness. If they would- I think they would call someone like an information broker (an informant) to do the dirty work.

I've yet to decide the rating for this one.

So hopefully, this goes well.

Till next time

000


	2. Chapter 1

**A hooker's liner**

CHAPTER ONE

The Spider's Web

The roof's dilapidated debris fell down my hand like the preceding vestiges of a conscience that my will no longer pended within its depth; my hand closed in a fist, trapping rubbishes inside my grasp, only to watch them fall out of boredom. Looking at the clock on my wrist, I realized it was probably an hour past midnight, I had to be in my office to meet with yet another client. My thoughts absently swirled around the gruff peals that made me who I am. Easily, I decide that I am fulfilled in a very sickly volume of the decisions I've extolled to; I am not struggling away from my own cloying covetousness. As a mercenary, I work at the expenses of ethic.

My motives can't be anymore avaricious than what they are now, I couldn't be more successful doing so and I couldn't feel anymore entertained by each outcome that each project bequeaths my satisfaction. I think of myself at the uppermost of this filthy city that withholds in its darkest alleys the dirtiest and most deplorable of secrets, each of which make me- Nakura Jazz, the most reputable and prominent information broker there is around, for all the factual reasons, I am the web behind the spider.

To curtail such stances about my capacity- or rather, my chosen inability to feel empathy towards anyone- I pitilessly endow people's lives in exchange of numbers in my pocket. Conceitedly, each time, with a witty smirk painted on my lips, I hand what information I was paid for and I know each time I've managed to succeed their anticipations. "My work is done."

Each one of my clients have all nodded, just as the one that I have in front of me now that I am back from the streets to the comfortable space that is my office. I can see through his blank eyes, thinking opaquely just as the rest, _'How in the hell did this motherfucker even manage to find all of this out?'_ And their eyes always blink in wicked enthrallment. Once. Twice. They feel appreciative of my exertion, yet too flabbergasted that I am _that good_ doing what I do.

My job is earnestly impeccable. These type of stray maggots that come at my office adorned with expensive and tasteless jewelry always agree that what steps I've given to unveil what they want to know is worthier than the money they pay for and that is what keeps me thriving through their commendations. The outcome is effortlessly faultless to such extent that they wrap their heads around the idea that it is _way more_ than what they paid for _. Way too much._

But that is just delusional. I would _never_ give them more than what they are paying me for.

I just can only condone such basic beliefs when they find themselves glued to my papers. In astonishment, they all wonder one thing; how a data broker as myself can know so much? And that is per se, dangerous to say at least. Because they know I know. Farfetched as it sounds; _that_ should be enough to play me off.

In a world where information is everything, I can't let them think my work was an erstwhile underground thrill. And even if it was, I'm goddamn sure my reputation has ripened through enough to keep me alive. I infringe distress before they can challenge me in my own board, where I stipulated the rules, a long time ago. Nobody can play chess better than Nakura Jazz.

Rather than lucky I am a smart man, who've fired confidently yet carefully each of his shots.

Whatever it is, this time, this day, tucked in a seat across my desk, one of my clients realized that my information successfully exposed a prostitute's hidden place, which only means she foolishly refuged herself in a friend's house, a couple of blocks away from Shinjuku's downtown. She presumably ran off with bills to pay, but with my eyes all over this city, she may run from her debt collector, but she can't run from me.

I handed my client, who happened to be her debtor the information he requested. He found out she has two children and her boyfriend's name. He found out about her past and how she was kidnapped and trafficked at a young age. He found out that Japan doesn't forgive and never forgave a homeless child and he decides, in front of me, that he will not forgive her either. He disposes pity and curses at her name, the name she was given at birth. Because well, prostitutes never use their real names with their clients. Now he knows it. He knows I know it.

"D-do you know more about her Mr. Informant?" His inquire reeks morbid appetite, my eyes narrow and I find the situation amusing.

" _Every piece of information has a price."_

He nods like a hungry pig that was offered food. He licks his pale lips as his eyes widen in anticipation "C-can that extra charge be excise free?"

It entertains me as he hands me another stack of bills. I leisurely count the money and I nod. _"Excise free? Sure, I can make you a discount."_ I reach down my pocket and extract 1¥ (0.0091$ USD), I hand it to him. It's symbolic, just to let him know that he doesn't have a say in the way I charge, he nods and doesn't take it. We can continue now that we've settled.

I hand him over another heap binder, this one is black and contains more information about the prostitute's personal life. I can clearly see he is obsessed with her. He is infatuated with her past, with her rented body and her youth. He stammers in distractedness, "D-did they touch her when she was a minor?" I stay silent. "H-hopefully." He gulps thick air and kisses the papers. I almost pity her because he is rightfully repulsive. A women molester as far as I know. I'll make a mental note to dig up further on the papers I already have about him.

"Mr. Informant, d-do you have more?" He takes out his wallet.

" _More? I'm afraid I don't."_ I politely decline his offer, I want him to go already, his cheap cologne is starting to overpower my office's environmental odor and his breath is starting to stink, probably liver issues. " _That's all that I have for now."_ Or rather it is what I am willing to give. Saving up information always renders me useful for later.

There are two things I _never_ do and _never_ will do in my job: One, give up all the information I've gathered and two, give a little bit more than requested, especially for free.

He nods in understanding and he smiles contented when he finishes even the last bit of information I've assembled for him. I can only think about one thing and it doesn't trouble me; her location, I know that it is what it takes to murder her.

He thanks me and comments about how efficient of an informant I am. I nod, unimpressed. This is not the first time, nor will it be the last time I suffice a client's request, as it is so the somber forecast of a violent butchery. That's the core of the information I ever so willingly provided.

And still, I wonder.

"She owed you ¥ 552,262 ($5000)" I snicker, "You are up to her toes, I think there is-" I raised the black bag that contained my payment, "Ten times more in this bag."

"I know what you are thinking Mr. Informant." He chuckles, "Money isn't the issue. That bitch is a problem now that she is pregnant."

"After you repeatedly raped her. Does that surprise you?"

He looks astonished, "Does it say that in the report?"

"Page 13." Following my voice, he skims furiously through the pages, "I thought you read it all." I inquire.

His voice was shaking "I must have missed that."

"I detailed the initial allegation and the formal denounce is attached to the back."

"Was that necessary?" He frowns, "Where did you get this from?"

"Oh," I lace my fingers together, "Confidential information, sides, the prime minister did owe you one hell of a favor, nothing that can't be totaled or obliterated by the major assembly. I can only imagine~" I grin, "However it's not like I do the speaking, not without settling anything out."

"You truly are a mastermind. S-should I worry?"

"Not at all."

He gulped, "Fine. Will she have the baby?"

I pointed down the papers, "3 days ago, someone overheard her saying to her sister that 'regardless of its nature' she was totally having it, Mr. Hisakawa."

"Her sister shouldn't know any of that. Nobody should, not even you."

"I'm an informant." I shrugged, "That's my job."

"It's fine, I- uh, does anyone else know that?"

"Information has a valuable price. You already know all that's in the papers, it is what you paid me for. Yet you keep asking me for more so… I will tell you. However and before that, I took the initiative and added some extra charge on your bill," I handed him a white receipt, "I hope we don't have any objections from your side and fret not, Mr. Hisakawa, my lips are sealed for what I already know."

"It is fine," his voice was shaking, "but please," he begs me as he rubbed his temple for two minutes. He reached down to his pocket and handed me another stack of money "I am a politician."

"I think you know that _I know_ that." Playing with fire was another of my job's thrills. He nods and cleans the sweat off of his temple. And no, I don't always extort my clients; that will depend on where I am strategically standing. Information. Information and more information. "Her boyfriend does."

"Thanks," he nods, "I know where to find her then and what to do next."

That gives it all and I shrug disinterestedly. I don't judge my clients and if I do, my tone masks itself so I trust my tongue. He extends his hand to me and I receive it; we politely shake hands, my job is done, my probing as well. I can only imagine the horrors that he'll procure his eyes to witness, I can only snicker about his miserable life. "It was a pleasure Mr. Informant."

"The pleasure was mine." I nod, slowly. Insincerely but very convincingly to his eyes that he smiles. It disgusts me but it diverts me. He then leaves and it lets me thinking very peacefully within my own silence.

How interesting.

How amusing.

How… _macabre._

This is Nakura Jazz. This is the conscience of an information broker.

Ironically and as infamous as I've become, my name is not of public knowledge. Just the dirtiest scums of this city know very well of my name. Just the most illegally richest search for me and the weakest, the most ragged ones fear for it.

I looked at my laptop again, not to overdue my patience. This is my passion, this is what I love doing.

My next quest is a peculiar request for no less than six figures.

Now, I've always done my work using city's cameras, mouth to mouth rumors, government classifications, and profile extractions, violent keystroke loggers that work for me, social media spying, data mining, admission extortions, public and private networking invasions. But how in the hell will I go through an individual's head to make _him_ admit treacherousness? Especially towards a criminal organization?

Definitely the oddest job I've ever accepted.

I am not obliged to accept anyone's request but looking back at the reason why I even accepted this unusual job about this young man…. Aksel; I figured that it would be fun going out a bit.

Because seemingly…

Unlike the past 5 years in this informant job of mine- I'll have to meet him in person.

.

 **AN/** Since I have a specific order to have this story flowing as I want it to; I gladly inform you that character introduction is done. I think it was necessary to set the mood and of course, to see development and how this Jazz will interact with Aksel.

I think that both Aksel and Jazz might be in their 20's, probably 22-23.

Till next time

Batya000


	3. Chapter 2

**A hooker's liner**

CHAPTER TWO

Neon Dystopia

I look at my wristwatch and it is an hour past midnight and I'm not yet in my destination; Aksel's recondite apartment. My pace is slow, my eyes linger appreciatively and I inspect my surroundings as I move my way through the grim cyberpunk-looking alleyway. Most likely it is the opening of an equally stirring conurbation.

It is the region where Aksel Naess currently resides in. As far as I know, he doesn't have the best of payments nor a steady support coming from the criminal organization he works for. He has to earn every single coin and his lack of involvement may be the reason of why he resides in such an offbeat, not to say extraneous district. It might also be the reason why I was called in the first place.

They don't need him, but there might be someone _up there_ in their hierarchy scale who still appreciates him and that could be the reason why they are searching for –valid excuses…. 'Reasons' as my client corrected, _to wipe him off._

I look around once again; the place is nowhere near as refined as I would imagine a son of their circle would live like, but I can still credit these boulevard's hauntingly rousing settings for the wandering eyes; there is something oddly futuristic about the street's low-budget neon billboards.

The alleyway's dirtiness and the vaporware surrounding the narrow thoroughfares overpowers my thoughts; I'm slightly admired by the degree of breakdown and cybernetic stress these streets hold within their core. The ubiquitous datasphere just adds to its aesthetic decadence. A thrilling yet chaotic combination of lowlife and high-tech. The best way to describe these distinctive surroundings would be if you think about a dystopian wreckage juxtaposed with digitalized sophistication; meaning you would still be in Tokyo, but you'd be wiser if you left.

It reeked of danger and smolder.

Aksel's apartment was two blocks away from where I was walking, the silence of my stride gave me the chance of recapping what instances I managed to tire up; using his social platforms rendered me useless for the last two days. I figured that for the first time I was left without any options besides meeting him in person. Before finding myself walking through these peculiar streets, I was more than willing to find the needle in the haystack.

Sure, I know some basic information about him, however it is nothing that could finish my work in a weekly report. Talking of which, last night I sent a letter to my client and I told him I wouldn't meet the weekly report, that this job would be slightly different and that my strategy changed. I didn't ask him, I simply informed him. I also assured him that my job would be done soon, nonetheless, I did not specify any date. He responded cordially that they… understood, as soon as the results were definite. _'But of course'._

Yesterday, I finally accepted that this would take a special spin in which I would first handedly get to coerce him and deceive him into trusting me. That was, I realized the only possible way I could get his word for it. Luckily, in my digital research, I found that his landlord was searching for another inquiline. _'How fucking convenient.'_ I made a call and minutes after I made the direct deposit.

Now that I am in front of his department, or rather- our department, I can't help but leer, the exhilaration is pumping through my pulse; I am more than ready for this to begin. Just how much am I willing to do for six figures?

My name is Nakura Jazz… that should answer it.

I turned the knob and pushed the door after I heard it click. I probably didn't expect to find anyone at this hour but oh well, anticipations hardly meet reality. I close the door behind me. There is a pink dyed man, lazily scratching the skin underneath his black choker, kneeling down the counter's cabinet, looking down for something. Probably a midnight snack. His nails are sloppily painted in black nail-polish and his arms are tatted all the way down his wrists. He is wearing black trousers, socks and a white sleeveless shirt.

The young man I saw on the photos looked… different.

Unsurprised, he sniffs and he turns to look at me. He has black circles under his eyes but his expression remains wickedly vivid. His smirk spreads coquettishly, I shift and stare; that sneer looks way too similar to mine. "Are you my new roommate?" His voice is gruff yet the timber within his chords are too youthful for him to be older than I am.

"I am." I say as I throw the backpack I was carrying down the floor. "My name is Jazz."

"Ioss" His accent is strong and the erroneous enunciation doesn't bother me however my first interaction with him, I knew, it had to be rough.

"Pronounce it correctly," I bark, seemingly irritated, "It is Jazz, as the music."

His left eyebrow raised as he stood up from where he was kneeling. He probably didn't expect me being so harsh on him, "Sorry," he starts humbly, not the calm attitude I would have expected either, "I am not from here," he tried appeasing. "I came from Norway."

"I figured you'd have to be a foreigner," I rolled up my eyes, "However and once again, it is Jazz."

"Iaas." He tries again and this time I scoff, _loudly,_ making him instantly wince at my derisiveness, I was ought to make him feel how much I disliked him at first glance.

"You are still mispronouncing it, but like…" I sigh, outwardly fed up with him, "Whatever, I don't think you'd understand anyways."

"Right, sorry again." His mouth pouts and I noticed his bottom lip has a ring piercing to it. He comes closer, brushing his palms against his pants to later offer me his, "My name is Aksel by the way." His wrist is covered with thread, leather and rope bracelets. "I hope we can get along."

"Sure." I drag my backpack with my left hand, I ignore his salute and leave his hand hanging. I walk past him, "I hope you aren't as bad as those whities they show us on TV all the time. I don't like 'em, so stay in your dirty lane."

He refrains his hand and this time he frowns, " _That_ I understood very well." He goes back to what he was doing as he kneels back down to search inside the counter.

One thing I know, I will have to constantly bicker down with him, in order to build trust I need to be his foe at first stance. That will _for sure,_ enhance my chances of making us connect in the future. Contrary to popular belief, you don't trust gooey, mushy characters but the ones that burn slowly to you. You distrust happy, amicable people. However if you think you've seen the worst side of someone, then you get surprised at their good side, and you are more likely to bond with them, even if their goodness it's way more insignificant and mediocre that what a friendly person would have shown or offered you at first glance.

That's why they say you always end up befriending that one person you disliked at first.

Human interaction is per say, an interesting thing.

I'll let him think that my attitude is gross; I'll let our tension build-up if necessary. I'll let him dislike me as far as he can feel for a stranger.

Then after that, I'll let myself do something sweet and unsuspected for him, maybe some coffee or a shy pat in the back if he looks frustrated. Maybe a sweater with the excuse that I don't like the ones he wear. I'll just let him think he is slowly growing on me.

I will then insistently shy away from physical interaction, just to make myself more desirable to his hands. I will let him think I have a vulnerable side; I'll let us have an awkward conversation at two in the early morning on our kitchen. I'll speak about tragedies and I'll listen to his concerns, later, I'll imitate some of his beliefs and behaviors, just to make him think we are more similar than he initially expected. I'll let him think that I always needed a friend, that I always needed someone to trust, someone to hold me and somehow, I chose him to do so.

Being this friendship or something else; I will let him think that I am beyond damaged and that he is the only person that can see that side of me besides my own shadow. I'll make him feel special. I'll let him think that I ever so passionately fell for him, that I am slowly burning for him, that I need him, I'll let him have his way with me if that's what he wants, I'll let him think that I want it just as desperately and stubbornly. Once I have him blinded with sex, I'll let him think that I am his, that I was alone before him. I'll let him think that we are together in this and I'll create a codependence in our bond.

More than for the money, I will do it for my immaculate reputation; period.

Before going inside my bedroom, he carefully taps my shoulder, I turn and he is offering me a bar of candy "Want chocolate?"

"It would be 'Do you want' at the beginning but," I shrug, "What can I expect from a Caucasian airhead? And no," I grimace, "I hate candy."

He scowls in irritation "you know _what_? **Fuck you."**

Ah, human existence can be very basic sometimes. I smirk, "Fuck _you_ idiotic piece of shit."

…None of this can in any way, get out of my hands.

O

O

O

 **AN/**

*pretends to be shocked*


	4. Chapter 3

**A hooker's liner**

CHAPTER THREE

The bond.

"Why can't you send in some-," he pressed the phone against his cheek and elbow, rapidly skimming through both his pockets to retrieve some coins, "I need it- ugh, _now_." he pushed one ¥100* coin ($0.91) inside the rusted vending machine's coinage slit, the billboard's vaporware illuminance made his eyes narrow. He futilely awaited for his purchased brew.

He coughed, "I'm out of cash alright?" Out of patience, Aksel kicked the machine's bottom side with his left foot, causing it to impel an oxidized cracking noise and soon after, a pop beverage fell down the metallic compartment. Though it advertised as 'Only ¥54' ($0.49) No change was ever given, not even after he asserted three punches on the side of it.

"… yeah they paid me, around eight days maybe- 'aight, _I know_ okay? I fucking _know_ but what am I suppo-"

Aksel reached down to grab the soda, "mhm, go ahead…" he sighed as he turned away from the machine. The can's fizzing sound went unheard as he opened the pop's top; he sipped on his soda and sighed a second time, "…Yeah, sure, I'll wait here."

"…Yeah, tell her that it's for food and stuff aha."

…

"…thank you by the way." Although it was an hour past midnight, with the corner of his eye, Aksel could devise a hooded man heading towards his direction, he determined to step away from the machine and head towards his apartment; not that it was difficult to see through the neon floodlit alleys. Looking down to the wet patches on the concrete, Aksel wondered if that night would also rain as in the past several days.

He grabbed his phone more firmly, not needing to use both his hands aside from holding the soda, "Yeah, uh, hi again ….and? what did she tell you?"

He sighed in bitter acquiescence, "…what? …just how much did you say?" He moved his head in negative, his eyes rolled up acerbically, "I see…"

"No, nothing… it's fine, I _mean,_ we will both agree that it's _not_ much and I could rant the fuck out of why ¥4,300.00 ($39.19) isn't shit but I guess that it is _something_ you know-"

"No- I didn't mean to say you weren't helpful…. Ah _no,_ I still want those 4300¥… all I'm saying is-" He snarled, "You know what? Forget about it. _Yes,_ it is fine… I'll wait for the deposit."

…

"Yeah, I'll do my best to start saving. Thank yo- goodnight to you too, mhm bye."

He hung up and realized his cousin's words would ring up louder than he wanted them too.

' _Aksel this time they are not fucking around. Start saving from payday to payday because this is the last time I help you.'_

He frowned, "Son of a bitch; all that crap over so _little_ money." He walked over to a street's trashcan and he threw the empty can inside, "Now what options do I have now."

.

Eyes sore from all the urban fliers' distorting lights; the blue, red, pink and purple effect-templates throughout the city and each alleyway that strobed insistently through his clear eyes, the worsened stench of the deteriorated streets and the never-ending smoke and smolder combined with the rain's vapor that surrounded him into a dampened mess of coldness and awkward humidity, almost to the extent of suffocation had him close to hindrance, Aksel fumbled with the keys outside his apartment, needlessly throwing the door open as well as slamming it back shut.

He sighed in relief as he yanked the damp black hoodie from his waist to the nearest perch. Everything was pitch black, except for the TV on the living room that was on, the noise was so faint that it was almost muted, his roommate was sleeping across the couch, the commercial's flashes dimly revealing his frame up to clear recognition. Aksel walked in closer.

One forearm tucked as a pillow, a dainty sheet wrapped around his hip and Aksel couldn't deny it gave him a tender vulnerability despite the scowl that Aksel recalled it being ever-present on his face. Aksel couldn't even understand why they even bickered so often, but they did and sometimes it progressed in worseness. It had been two months since Jazz moved in and each day was hell printed on their skins. It crawled, it screeched and it prevailed.

Jazz seemed to be deafened to casual conversations, he always hissed, yelled obscenities and flipped his middle finger at him, other days he just mocked his accent and the way he spoke, sometimes he punched him one or two times if Aksel accidentally stepped in 'too close'.

'Fuck you' was the most used sentence in that house and nobody got to fool around besides their massive egos. They couldn't get along. Not one bit. Not after all the insults, all the dirty looks they gave to each other, all the scornful words and infinite disdain. The maddening amount of sarcasm and derisiveness made their interactions dense hostility.

 _Unnecessarily aggressive;_ those were two words that could describe Jazz almost faultlessly. Aksel didn't like the stress their broken relationship conveyed, true. They couldn't get along not even if they got paid, true. They didn't like each other, _true._ But sometimes… just sometimes, Aksel could admit he liked their wicked game. Sometimes… he liked Jazz' games and some very few others, he liked Jazz.

He wearily walked over to where his roommate slept, hovering over and projecting his shadow above his pale frame.

"Iaas." Tiredly, his fingertips glided delicately over the uncovered skin of Jazz' shoulder. Sparing intruding thoughts about the softness of the skin beneath his palm, Aksel's eyes narrowed in acerbic covetousness and his voice became louder "Wake up rat."

Eyes that immediately slit open as astringent venomous coils of danger, a hand that aggressively slapped his fingers off of his skin and a voice that emerged curtly irate from sleep, Jazz' consciousness emerged from slumber as he stared up at Aksel's towering figure upfront.

"Fucking-" Jazz growled as he seated on top of the various sheets he was lying on, his hair unarranged yet too cynically pretty to make Aksel lose his temper, "It's almost fucking two in the morning," Jazz snarled as he glanced at the clock across the living room, "are you fucking stoned or what?"

Aksel snickered impishly, despite his tiredness, only his playful cheekiness would let him earn a positive response "I have a deal for you."

Jazz jeered acrimoniously "A fucking deal?" his challenging frown crossed off almost in fustian disbelief, "I was fucking sleeping you know? Besides, do you really think you have something that I could want? How fucking cute."

"I'm sure I do."

Jazz seated properly and bent his arms across his chest, he asked almost in mockery "You already woke me up so now go the fuck on. What the fuck do you want?"

"First off, is that _my_ shirt?" Aksel's eyes focused on the slack black shirt that hung loosely down one of his shoulders.

"It's dark in here to say so but it might be," Jazz smirked, raising an eyebrow in mindfulness "Now, what is it that is so fucking important that couldn't fucking wait for tomorrow?"

"I'm broke."

…

Jazz snorted after a while, "Are you?"

"Pretty much-"

Jazz rolled up his eyes, "let me fucking sleep, okay? Go feed that shit to someone else."

"Funny of you to say that," Aksel smiled mischievously, "what happens is that I'm an underground chef."

"Huh?" _Why_ _ **the fuck**_ _didn't I know_ _ **that**_ _about him?_ "Are you?" his yellow bellicose eyes narrowed, "Is that the reason why your paycheck is sheer _garbage_?"

"Pretty much." Aksel nodded, "But I love what I do."

"…m'kay but why do you think I care?"

Aksel smugly explained, "Well, I'm known to serve the best red-meats from the entire district… if you want to taste them then that's my deal."

"hm," Jazz scorned, "Really? How do I know that's a worthy deal to me?" he raised an eyebrow, mildly interested.

Aksel scoffed, "Well… Tourists come all the way through the recondite place where I work in the search for the 'white man's cook', so you tell me."

Jazz nodded seemingly impressed, "What do you want from me then?"

"I cook for us and you buy the groceries for both of us. And yes, it _is_ that simple. That doesn't mean we have to get along. That's unassuming convenience since I've noticed you only eat…" he accentuated, _"garbage."_

 _Son of a…_

Jazz stood silent. Aksel continued, "Although you might have noticed that I have a graveyard shift, people only eat my food past 7 pm. But I will make sure that I leave yours ready through every meal, including dinner."

Jazz sighed and stood up from where he was seating, "Yeah, whatever," he nodded "That'd be fine for me."

"Hold up." Aksel pursed his lips, "You will buy what groceries I tell you, alright? I don't consume whatever shit that's on promotion."

"No wonder why you are broke."

"Do we have a deal then?" Aksel extended his hand, receiving a much smaller one in a solid grip of having sealed an agreement.

"I think we do."

"Good. Now go back to sleep."

"Yeah hold on now," Jazz sneered before letting Aksel leave, "In the first month we had to share in here, I think I remember you mentioning of how you had a 'family business' in which you had- what you called- a _'steady'_ job."

"I still do," Aksel nodded, "I don't mind it though personally. I don't get too much involvement there because I have a passion where I work now."

 _It's never that_ _ **easy**_ _to disengage from that bloodline, Aksel Naess._

"mph," Jazz sighed, "Was your family okay with that?"

"Well… they let me have a paycheck so, we can say that they reluctantly agreed so I think they are fine with that, yes."

 _They aren't._

 _They truly aren't._

"What kind of job do you have with your family?"

Aksel stuck out his tongue, "Eek, I don't even know. I just organize some of their papers."

 _Not yet willing to spill, huh?_

"Oh, I see." Jazz nodded, "So tell me, in this underground culinary job of yours, how is the payment?"

"Non-existent right now." Aksel chuckled, just then is that Jazz noticed how attractive that sound actually was "My friend Kai and I just started it not long ago. He is still paying the credits he used to make it work. Hopefully… I'll get to see something soon."

"Yeah… and hopefully, he isn't fooling you."

"Nah, I trust him." Aksel shrugged jovially, "What about you Iaas?" Aksel witnessed his alluring cat-eyes brighten in apprehension, "I barely know anything about you and today seems to be a peaceful day between us."

"Huh? Me?" Jazz inquired, "What do you want to know about me?"

"Hmm, let me think. You…" Aksel started, "…do not have a steady job, now do you?"

"Oh… I do." Jazz moved his head in an assenting motion. "I certainly do."

"Really?" Aksel placed both his hands inside his pockets, "I mean, it was hard to tell because sometimes you are late, sometimes you are not. Let's me thinking… What do you do for a living?"

Jazz stood silent for a minute.

…

"I'm a hooker."

Aksel's cheeks tainted, a slight toll of jealousy left his mouth tasting bitter. "You are?"

"Indeed." Jazz shrugged and then he turned to walk back to his bedroom, he stopped before crossing the wooden frame's threshold and he turned to look behind his shoulder "do you want to know about my tariffs or…"

"Though you are probably just messing around with me," Aksel's tongue clicked, he lightheartedly grinned "I'm broke."

"I figured." Jazz leered coquettishly, "start saving." With those words playfully tossed, Jazz stepped inside his bedroom and then leisurely closed the door.

Aksel laughed quietly, "…Yeah… I think I will."

After a while in silence, the door softly clicked and Aksel's attention snapped back at it, his heart caught up in his throat but not without it skipping a beat _"…Do you want to come in?"_

.

O

O

O

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 **AN/**

I don't mind skipping two months of bickers since I don't think that including those scenes will affect positively the flow of the story.

Till next time

Batya000

.

 **BONUS SCENE! Next chapter** (It takes place in between those two months of fights between them, it is one of the scenes I wrote that I then decided to take out/off.)


	5. Chapter 3 BONUS

**AN/** It takes place in between those two months of fights

 **BONUS**

"Well? Get the fuck out of here and mind your goddamn business." Jazz scowled as he elbowed the redhead's torso, Aksel grimaced and frowned, grabbing his aching side. "Ouch" he responded by pushing Jazz' head forwards with the palm of his hand, the later recoiled angrily at the aggression and elbowed him again.

"Watch out imbecile!"

"Says the aggressive son of a bitch." Aksel snickered as he pushed past Jazz.

"Hey!" Jazz turned around and asserted yet another punch on his chest, "You fucking stop it!"

"You do that" Aksel defended himself, "I was just trying to help you and you fucking elbowed me."

"I don't need your motherfucking help!" Jazz growled and bent his arms across his chest. "Just leave me the fuck alone when I'm fucking using the kitchen!"

"Okay? Next time you just say fucking thank you and ignore it you impolite asshole."

"Oh," Jazz smirked sarcastically, "I have tried for the last couple of weeks." His eyes glowered, "From now on, I hope we both mind our own shit, 'aight dickhead?"

Aksel raised his middle finger to him as the other chuckled in irritation, "Sounds about right midget."

"Watch your fucking mouth, you brainless moron."

This time Aksel raised both his hands and flipped both his middle fingers up at him, "Fuck you."

"Fuck _you."_ Jazz responded as usual and turned around to keep trying to cut a knife through the various tomatoes upfront. "Fag."

Aksel laughed as loudly as he could muster before slamming his bedroom door shut.

 **.**


	6. Chapter 4

**A hooker's liner**

CHAPTER FOUR

Vapor

Heart caught inside his throat, Aksel breathed out and his feet seemed to walk by themselves, there was something shamelessly captivating about Jazz' words, close to being surreal yet too profoundly real that he found his own willpower flakily wavering at the implication. The enthralling voice that invited him to get closer was continuously reverberating through his thoughts. Jazz wasn't a stranger, after all, Jazz was his roommate, someone whom with he happened to be sharing the same roof for the last two months. Someone who, he resolved that not getting along with was better than trying.

Aksel didn't like Jazz, not always. More often than not he found himself wishing his tragic demise however, there was something promising about fucking and submitting someone who seemed to think that he was, not only lexically but wholesomely superior than he was.

Aksel thoughts weren't obedient nor were they carelessly dumb in their nature. He wouldn't follow Jazz' voice just because there was a change of heart in their midnight conversation, he wouldn't if he didn't feel like burying his dick inside him. But it was a seductive thought to say at least. One that would make his determination beam down at him.

 _Admit you want to._

His hand rested on the doorknob and a light push was enough to allow him inside the forbidden room. Only an auburn lamp distanced the chamber from being pitch black, immediately on the door's left and against the wall with crossed arms, Jazz stared up at him, sighing in grilling anticipation, eyes misted and tempting, the smirk did widen and Aksel knew that if he would play _that_ type of game with Jazz, then he had to win.

 _I'll use you if you use me._

Admittedly not uncomfortable as their breathings were easily hearable through their silence, Aksel just pondered if he would have to pretend that the night closed its chances for recollection a couple of hours ago, whatever suited Jazz- he shrugged.

"Took you long enough."

Iced-tones eyes gleamed viscerally at the young man he had pinned underneath his stance, he leaned in against Jazz who was staring apprehensively at each of his movements. _"Say Iaas."_ The primeval voice that rasped against Jazz' cheek fittingly sent a hot shiver up his spine, _"Are you playing games with me?"_ Aksel's hand went up to grab the back of Jazz' neck, _"you don't want to test me now do you?"_ Jazz released a breathy sigh when Aksel's fingers roamed up to yank his hair back. _"I'd be thrilled if you did still, these are certainly and by far, my favorite ones."_

" _I'm not. I just… feel like letting you do me…"_ Jazz responded quietly, his hazed eyes closed as a wet tongue glided against his bottom lip, genuinely grazing a shudder down his spine _"mnn"_ his hands fisted sternly on Aksel's shoulders.

" _Good then,"_ Aksel sneered, savoring the new fresh taste of Jazz' lips _"I like how that sounds,"_ Soft lips suddenly occupied Jazz' in a quiet, dominant union where the younger's senses diffused blurrily against his will, Aksel's lip-ring rubbed daintily against his sensitized mouth, easily inflaming his urges to return the lured fervent rawness.

Aksel pressed Jazz' body tighter against the wall, detaching his lips to breathe and stare down at Jazz' parted lips that were waiting for a kiss to seal them, panting in the softest way, leaving him wondering how colorful the noises he would do if both gave in their deepest desires. Aksel approached in closer, dodging Jazz' mouth on purpose and landing his nose and huffing mouth against Jazz' ear. _"You smell so good, I don't think I dislike you at all right now…"_

The intense tremors that burned underneath Jazz' skin deceived his own thinking, _"well I think you are fucking hot, is that the sam-mnn shit"_ Jazz bit his bottom lip as Aksel's warm mouth pressed against his neck, he was thrillingly fascinated by Aksel's impressive good-kissing skills.

" _Mhm,"_ Aksel mumbled in response.

The heat started to pool down Jazz' crotch, his spine arched against the wall and all the sensations started to overpower his senses.

 _I can't control this shit._

 _Not right now_.

Aksel's teeth sunk on a delicate spot on his neck, lipping and nibbling behind his ear and slowly kissing all the way back down his neck _"H-hold on mnn."_

It was starting to seriously burn, the kisses were starting to stain and the hug they were inadvertently tightening just served to make their frothing bodies immerse in more of an intimate approach. The lights were off, save for Jazz' bedroom's dim-toned lamp. The rain outside didn't distract Aksel from the soft sighs he enraptured from Jazz' red-kissed lips. Aksel's hand slowly traveled down to palm between Jazz' legs, smirking at the hardness underneath Jazz' thin-clothed shorts _"… hold on ah"_

Jazz' hands tightened on Aksel's hair, reeling at the exhilaration of having the tip of his member thumbed over black underwear, _"mnn.."_ he was hoping not to come too soon, his fingers squeezed more desperately through pink tresses as Aksel's fingers slipped underneath the fabric. _"Shit…"_ Jazz' back hit the wall more roughly, he cursed as he felt his legs starting to tremble.

Aksel was captivated by the sensations under his fingertips, soft, angel skin even over his hardened member, moist as his fingers roamed downward and hot flesh as his fingers flicked Jazz' leaking head, he pushed his fingers further down, sliding them against the base and slowly massaging his testes. _"mmf"_ Jazz' skin flushed, gleaming youthfully down his shoulders, he let slip a dewy groan of surrendered pleasure. Aksel pressed them firmer, rubbing his fingers against the gland. _"Does it feel good?"_

" _Yes…"_ Jazz hissed voicelessly, there was something he could not feign and that was the overwhelming lust he was spellbound below Aksel's ardent ministrations. As Aksel continued fondling him, Jazz' bellicose eyes opened with fiery craving, smirking coquettishly despite the hand that grabbed impishly between his legs. Jazz' hands grabbed Aksel's face and yanked him down, allowing their parted lips to blend.

Aksel gasped and stopped his fondling hand, hearing a light groan come from Jazz' puffy lips. As he felt the porcelain skin gleam in perspiration, Aksel grabbed the hem of Jazz' shorts, slowly tugging them down alongside his black underwear, revealing his spurting manhood more clearly. Jazz frowned despite the rousing lust, his breathing agitated as the garments were discarded to the side. _"Fuck, you are hot."_

The agitated panting increased, Aksel came in closer against him, tightening him to the wall, kissing him and not allowing enough air to breathe through their noises, Jazz huffed as two wet fingers probed down in soft circles on his most sensitive entrance, as close as they were, Aksel managed to turn Jazz around, making him press his forehead against the wall and obliging his bottom to stick up against Aksel's clothed erection. _"mmf, that feels nice."_ Jazz confessed with the rough fabric that brushed against his ass.

Aksel licked two of his fingers, swirled them inside his moist mouth, dripped them in his own warm saliva until they were coated enough to ooze. He guided them down as he lustfully stared down the awaiting pink bud. _"I definitely like the view."_

" _Shut the fuck up."_ Jazz gasped impatiently. Aksel chuckled and he prodded one of his fingers between Jazz' flawless bums, not yet thrusting it past the tight muscles, just rubbing in gentle circles until it started to shudder _"I can't. You have by far, the best ass in Japan."_

" _I'm mn_ actually, proud of how it has turned you on _ugh_ " Jazz groaned, the blazing sensation down his entrance making him fist his hands against the cold wall "…so likewise, _mnn_ it serves fucking looks."

Aksel snickered, "I know, I'm not being sarcastic. But keep talking, _you sound hot._ " He pushed his finger up to his knuckle, making Jazz wince uncomfortably. Aksel pulled it out and back in a few times, slowly and mostly out of curiosity of how tepid and moist Jazz' insides felt, noticing how tense Jazz' shoulders were, Aksel's face approached the back of his neck and kissed it quietly, very gradually pushing a second finger inside.

" _Mnn fuck,"_ Jazz kept gasping, his mind-wobbling between the ardor and a pleasant sensation right when Aksel's fingers poke against a special spot, his fingertips rubbed the sluggish walls with a shameless assertion, making Jazz steadily lose his cool _"mn there..."_ He sighed and pushed his hips back at the nudging appendages, urging Aksel to repeat the firmness with which he was fingering him, over and over again. _"Ugh god…"_

Aksel's fingers finally popped off and he unceremoniously reached down to unbutton and pull his zipper down. He gasped in relief as he grabbed out his own engorged penis, he thumbed the burning head out of desperation, grinning as he heard Jazz gasp in a similar heartthrob, _"hurry up"_ Aksel complied as he glued his front to Jazz' back, close enough to become a second skin; he lined up his boiling gland against Jazz' quivering entrance and as his mouth overpowered Jazz' cheek and sweating neck, he pushed his rock solid member in.

Jazz moaned, curled against Aksel but appeared to smirk despite the boiling agitation, _"Ugh fuck that hurts so good,"_ he breathed out and with his bent arm he reached up for Aksel's face. They neared their mouths as they panted and Aksel started thrusting in deeper, hastily finding that sweet spot that sent Jazz' mind up to the lavish heavens and right against the blazing stars. Jazz groaned with honeyed timbers as the pleasure tightened his genitals in a newly found angle he had no idea that existed. _"God, right there Aksel."_

Skinning their scorching skins against humid clothes wasn't a distraction from the frenzied blistering down their swollen members, Aksel's hips were thrusting hard and deep against Jazz' prostate, holding his groans back in every time Jazz tightened down on him, eyes hazed with heavy lids falling over as his mouth gasped in what he believed was thoughtless carnality, _"Feels good…"_ Aksel mumbled against Jazz' ear, breathing heavily behind it and mussing his wet lips against the crook of Jazz' neck. Making the other shudder as the ring of his lip scraped against an earlier bite.

" _Mmn I'm gonna... come ugh… fuck."_

" _Go on then…"_ Aksel gasped as he shoved in harder.

" _This is too good… ah"_ Jazz threw his head back against Aksel's shoulder, managing to kiss in that position and groaning as an orgasm made his eyes roll back in his head. _"mmff"_ A wet white spurt landed against the wall _"Mnn, fuck Aksel."_

Aksel sultrily groaned against Jazz' ear, managing to elongate his earth-wrecking orgasm as yet another spurt of semen landed against the first one. The strong contraction down Aksel's throbbing manhood pushed him down to the irresistible end, making him press Jazz as tightly as he could push him against the wall, almost suffocating him as they melted together into one hot mess, burying his seed, deep inside Jazz, selfishly marking him as his.

.

Fevered, almost overheated in a mushed and sickly tone, Jazz was gasping in overexposing temperature and Aksel innocently said he just wanted to undress him twenty minutes ago, just because he was 'curious' of how he looked without any garments on.

Aksel's hands were now moving Jazz' body like if it was a rag-doll as he prodded deeply Jazz' overly delicate insides with an obscenely throbbing erection back against the bed, moving him like a pretty sex-doll that just had to look sensual as Aksel took him again, this time the bedroom's lights were on and their bodies were completely naked up for scrutinizing morbidity.

Both remained as silent as they could, intently locking gazes as Aksel remained on top and his hips pivoted rhythmically; one of Jazz' legs was up to his left shoulder and the other was pushed back by Aksel's hand, his eyes overpowered by lust and appetite, charmingly winning as he puffed warm air.

Aksel pressed against his soft spot harder, the delicious sensations making Jazz' back curl and his toes twist. _"mmn ah"_ Jazz' eyes closed and his lips silently plead for him, repeating how good it felt, where it felt good and how hard or soft he wanted it.

Aksel remained smirking, huffing, licking his own lips as he gave in every request and at the same time letting Jazz know, that he was in total control. Aksel smiled, toughening his rhythm, he was honestly thrilled by how good Jazz' happened to look naked, his soft, dewy skin added to his naturally flawless and ravaging sexuality as he blossomed for him every time Aksel stared down at his penis shoving inside.

" _hah… ahh,"_ Pleasured, frustrated and stubbornly lustful as Aksel coerced him into revealing, Jazz was melted down the sheets, like watery butter now that his eyes were rolling on the back of his head, his back was arching at each wanton propel and his moans increased their volume.

Exactly Aksel's new obsession.

.

Curled up in the living room's couch with several blankets covering his sweating body, Jazz watched in low-volume what he defined as 'classic 2:00 am television'. That meant that all he could find at that hour were older nostalgia-filled cartoons. Nothing captivating enough that he could brush his fever off.

He was considerably angry at Aksel, whom he decided to leave alone inside his own bedroom. Jazz had an ice-bag placed against one of his burning cheeks, slipping it up against his forehead and back on his neck. Jazz was convinced he overheated back in his bedroom- rather, _Aksel_ made him overheat, to the extent of feeling too dizzy and too hot once he was more or less, forced to come. He wondered why he even thought that sleeping with Aksel would be a good idea.

It all happened thirty minutes after passing out from the second round of sex. Jazz could only remember waking up with a painful, leaking hard-on and two fingers pushing forcefully against his prostate, his legs were spread open and his underwear was nowhere to be found. He recalled gasping as Aksel's damp fingers pushed in harder.

" _what-ah fuck no- mmn"_ Jazz' hands immediately tried stopping Aksel's hand from moving any longer, failing to do so and managing to make Aksel's fingers poke hard against his spot, so hard that a dry orgasm was forced into him, making his mind swirl, his head pushed back against his pillow, his back bent on damp sheets and his eyes water as the pleasant orgasm lasted more than he thought possible. _"s-shit ugh."_

He already felt dizzy.

After a while of staring down at his partner, Aksel smirked and leaned down, mouthing against Jazz' gaping lips some sweet-nothings until he pulled his fingers out of the quivering pink bud, _"…I'm so sorry,"_ he mumbled as his fingertips rubbed the still contracting muscle, _"…it's just that you look so helpless when you sleep."_ he smiled mischievously, "now I'm kind of… hard…"

Jazz blinked and after frowning, he smacked him with a weakly thud. "Fucking… _ugh_. What are you, a nymphomaniac?" his cheeks were ruggedly flushing, "I'm fucking dizzied now, you idiot."

"Hm, really? Sorry." Aksel answered with ease, "If I'm honest with you, this is the first time I fuck more than once in the same night-" he paused, "ah… daytime as well so, will you let me… put it in now? It's starting to hurt."

"Wha- _No,"_ Jazz huffed in annoyance, "I'm fucking overheating here you know?"

"I think you'll be numb if I fuck you now," Aksel leaned down to proximate their faces, "just let me use you as some kind of flesh-light… I'll be fast, I promise."

Jazz' felt his face burn even harder, his words felt feebler than usual "You'll kill me if I let you," he said weakly as their naked bodies brushed, "I already came-dry you fucking-" Aksel crawled on top of him and opened his legs. Jazz sighed defeated, his pride prayed not to feel a thing as he closed his eyes despite his frown. "Are you even listening- _ugh"_ He groaned as Aksel's solid penis slipped inside, burying himself to the hilt as Jazz tried muffling his own gasp. _"mmmf."_

" _What a tight ass you have."_

Jazz exhaled out his contained breath. Aksel's started shoving agonizingly slow and soft, fingering Jazz' testes and pressuring his receptive perineum alongside the base of his growing hardness. Jazz was zealously fighting his own submissiveness as he bit down his own knuckles, trying to pretend numbness despite the earnest abuse his insides were deliciously submerged in, he couldn't ask for anything despite the overpowering pleasure he was lured into. He rolled up his hips lightly, enjoying every bit of being used in that way. In partial darkness, as he was taken, almost lovingly. Carefully and almost cruelly as Aksel watched his face admit and contort in keen desire.

" _Hm?"_ Aksel sneered as he pushed Jazz' legs back, opening him a little more for him _"What is it that you are shuddering, are you, perhaps liking this?"_

" _N-no ahh,"_ Jazz lied, trying to open his eyes as challengingly as he could, failing at this as his heavy lids fell on the first half of them _"I'm, ugh_ " he bit his red lip, "waiting for you to get off just _mnn…"_

" _Okay~ but you are kind of hard down here"_ Aksel teased as he placed his thumb on the top of his dripping head, making Jazz wince and coil against the sheets, _"Might not let anything escape from here if that's the case~"_

Jazz hissed, partially in aggression and somewhat from being submitted to the beckoning pleasure that was Aksel's burning drive. His fingernails scraped against strong forearms, _"Fuck that,_ I'm doing you a favor so screw _that- ah shit, right there."_

" _What did you say,"_ Aksel thrust in more slowly, staggeringly hard but leisure as he remained with the tip against Jazz' prostate, _"If you aren't feeling anything then nothing should come off here, is that right?"_

Jazz' head started spinning, boiling and making his skin bake as every plunge got distinctively hard and difficult not to express, _"…Ugh harder"_ He shamelessly groaned as he buckled his hips and tried freeing the tip of his member from Aksel's strong grip.

" _Thought you weren't enjoying this."_ Aksel leered, _"Tell me what you want and I'll comply, as hard as you want it, just don't lie at me."_ Aksel prodded more smoothly, torturing every atom inside Jazz' body. _"I'll give you another chance, aren't you enjoying this, Iaas?"_

" _Fuck I am,"_ Jazz' hands riveted on the sheets beside his own head, _"fuck me right there a little harder mnn."_ His legs opened more invitingly, _"Please ugh.."_

Aksel's pace picked after a satisfied sneer. He released Jazz' swollen, leaking head, moving just on a firmer stride _"Like this?"_

" _mhm yeah..."_

So after the thrilling orgasm and the thousand sensations that followed kiss after kiss, Jazz decided that he was significantly angry and resolved to smack Aksel with a book that he found on his nightstand, arguing he felt wobbly and fevered because of _him._ "You fucking overdid me for fuck's sake."

"Oh~ but _you_ wanted it too..." Aksel argued back, earning him another smack. None of this earned him an apology from Aksel, just laughs and cynic stares that Jazz was sure they promised him another violation so he decided to leave the room after slipping inside Aksel's oversized shirt and some clean underwear he found in his drawer. "Fuck you" Jazz cursed at him and left the room. He strode over to the kitchen and confectioned himself a bag of ice, only to victimize over the situation while he tucked himself on the couch with a frown and a persistent blush that spread all over him.

After fifteen minutes into the old cartoon show he decided was worth the shot, Jazz fell asleep, having the ice-bag slip from his hand and onto the floor.

Not long after, Aksel came in, stared down at him and smiled "I really waited for you to come back to me you crazy son of a bitch."

Aksel sighed and turned the TV off. He reached over and effortlessly picked Jazz up, careful not to wake him as he soundlessly carried him back to the still warm bedroom. Aksel closed the door behind them, he cautiously laid Jazz close to him and he then smiled playfully as he thought he would let Jazz sleep throughout tomorrow, but _only_ because he wanted to sleep as well.

He sat on the bed with a sigh, he decided it would be better if he went back to his bedroom; as he stood up to leave, a hand grabbed his wrist, purposely detaining him from moving. Aksel turned back to look at Jazz, who was smiling mischievously at him, _"What? Are you afraid to act like the perfect boyfriend all of a sudden?"_

"You wish." Aksel chuckled as he laid back on his side.

" _Stay then…"_

"I just thought you would like the spell to be over by tomorrow morning." Slowly, Jazz approached closer to his side and leaned his body against his, resting his head on Aksel's arm.

"Nah," Jazz smiled, "With how good you did me, no commitments but you can definitely fuck me whenever you have the chance. I'll still stay true to how annoying you are to me. Because I guess you still are."

Aksel hummed, easing a gentle breath "Sounds fair to me~" He was even more elated by how easy it was to communicate and get along with Jazz. Even if Aksel could still say that, in a way, Jazz was continuously very aggressive towards him, even if just sonically; lightheartedly, _yes_. But very true to what he believed defined Jazz' belligerent personality.

Nothing seemed to change, except for the blatant, not to say unearned hostility that now felt very absent.

.


	7. Chapter 5

**AN/** Time-lapse of just a couple of weeks after last chapter.

.

.

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 **A hooker's liner**

CHAPTER FIVE

Youngblood

 **Third person's POV**

Brown herbs toasted on the grill's corner, his knife gutted off the meat's fat and he expertly shoved the scallions against the boiling pans. Aksel's clipart spatula pan-fried the stuffed cabbage as the smoke went up. Aksel raised his arm and with his wrapped-up sleeve, he wiped a drop of sweat off of his temple. He wondered when the high temperatures would cease to be unbearable.

"Last hour to go and I'm already late." He whistled out air, "Uh…" He looked to his left, hesitantly expectant at his kitchen partner, "Ayase-san," he started, "Can you cover me with…uh… this?" he pointed down at the veggie-filled saucepan on his left.

The alluded looked back at him, "Again?"

Aksel fingered the hem of his choker, "It'll be only for this time? I thought I had my short-day today so I made plans."

"You said exactly that yesterday," Ayase pursed his wrinkled lips as he wholeheartedly explained, "people from all places come looking for you young man. That's a great responsibility you should know you have. When they ask, what will they see? An old, saggy and fat Chinese man." He mildly laughed, "I don't think that is exactly what they want."

Aksel untied the knot on his behind, swiftly leaving the black apron on a spoon's hanger near the top shelf "Tell 'em that you are a better cooker than I am." He neared his friend, grinning as he wrapped an amiable arm around the old man's shoulders "Tell them that you showed me what I know." Aksel smiled, "The truth basically. That should convince them to take your food instead of mine, right?"

"I just polished crooked technicalities from a very talented and skillful young man," the old cooker bowed, "I certainly did not show you anything." The man in his early sixties shrugged "but oh dear, do you at least, have a good reason to leave early again?"

"All I can say is that I'll have a night of good, _good_ living if you agree to take the rest of my shift."

"You are talking about your new boyfriend, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't call him my boyfriend," Aksel snickered as he stepped back "That's too early isn't it?"

"Well you've been cutting your shift since you started getting involved with him, I can tell." The old man moved his head in negative, "Good sex won't pay your bills young-man. This restaurant might be yours and your friend's but leaving early every day will most definitely affect this business and this place's reputation if you get what I mean."

"Come on, I swear I'll make it up to you."

"It is not me you would have to make it up to, son. It is your clients who come here searching for your meats. They come from far-off places to eat your food." The old man shook his shoulders, "There isn't much I can say… after all, you are your own boss."

Aksel sighed, "I know…" he scratched the back of his neck, "I tell you that I will make it up to you because I elongate your shift when I leave. I'll give you a fully-paid day-off next week, I promise."

"That is certainly not my point, son and no, thank you, I don't need an extra day off. I can take half your shift if you ask me to but my thoughts remain still. You should stay and attend your consumers."

"… I know" Aksel breathed quietly and frowned, but I still need to leave Ayase-san…. It's really important to me to be with him now."

"Ah~ silly youthfulness, the blooming and carnal obsession to mate every day." The man huffed after an exaggerated shrug and on a more serious tone, he turned his eyes to Aksel, "I'll only ask you to stay focused on what you once told me was your biggest passion. That is all."

"Wha-I'm fully concentrated when I'm in here," Aksel promised as he patted the old man's back, he leaned down the cooktop's sideboard "come on, it'll only be for today I-"

"I said what I said-" Ayase suddenly smacked Aksel's knuckles with the back of his spoon, "Concentrate in your surroundings when there are grills on!"

"Ouch!"

"Son, you were a millimeter away from burning off the palm of your hand."

Aksel scowled as he cupped his own hand up, "I think burning it off would have been less painful."

Aksel looked down at what would have been the place he would have lost his cooking skills. He groaned ashamed. There was in fact, a red-scolding stove just where he was about to press his hand. "You see what I mean?" the old man insisted "A beginner's basic, golden rule; you never lean on any kitchen's stove, one never knows if it's safe for one's fingers."

"Come on…" Aksel protested "I am not new, you know."

"Well, then, in my opinion, you'll have to compromise that if you want this business of yours to keep thriving, there are some behaviors you'll have to change."

"I mean…" Aksel frowned slightly, "We can agree to disagree sure, but let me clarify that I am fully invested in what I do, I assure you that."

"Well, you aren't even concentrated enough now, just take a look," Ayase pointed down the stoves, "you were about to lose your hand to third-degree burns and that wouldn't do, Now would it?" the man chortled jokily, "Don't take your tiny success for granted, young man."

"Yeah… my kitchen is not an astronomical sensation yet, I know…" Aksel rolled up his eyes and he nodded in compliance, "Listen if you think I'm not fully into this as it is; I will complete my shifts from now on. I promise you that."

"I'll take your word on that." the old Chinese man smiled faintly. "Remember I say this for your own well-being."

…

"I know," Aksel smiled, "Can I leave then?"

…

"…You tell me, I'm just your employee."

…

…

…

"….Bye."

Ayase exhaled, defeated, "Alright." His knife yanked the meat from Aksel's hotplate up to his spot.

"Thanks!" he heard Aksel jovially exclaim.

"No problem, just be careful when you leave. You know these streets are not the safest at this-" He sighed yet again, fully acknowledging the pink-haired man left the illegal restaurant probably a good minute ago.

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 **AN/**


	8. Chapter 6

**AN/** There is a paragraph in BOLD (super black) down below. I thought I would clarify that those are Aksel's words.

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 **A hooker's liner**

CHAPTER SIX

Damage Control

 **Jazz' POV**

A wise man once said _'Morality, Sir, is the monologue of the unexcited and the unexcitable, the revenge of the unsuccessful, the punishment of those who tried and failed, or who never had the courage to try at all.'_ I may have lived through each syllable coerced into context whereas my impeccable narrative even exists or not, I've come to think that I've always lacked bridle through each and any of my actions. If those assertions of myself aren't yet to be completely disposable then why was I even hesitating to even conclude my role in that overly-dramatic parade? This is again- a ridiculous circus.

What does it mean to take damage control for me? It means that I am about to give Aksel Naess' life up to the man that paid for it. Simply because that is not what I want to do.

I tell myself that human beings aren't bound to feel affection drawn from sex. But on this occasion, I am yet to feel boundless. It is my unprofessional and careless behavior to blame, I've allowed myself to be led against him. I've been inconsiderate, I've been idiotic and I've crossed every border that could have prevented this from happening.

Now I care for him. I genuinely do and I won't ever forgive myself for doing so.

The ways that I find myself revering is ragingly senseless, it is thoughtless and atypical for my character. It gurgles inside my stomach and it beheads me from myself, from what I've created of my persona. Against my consciousness, I curse at my outwardly volatile guise and I've admitted, it is a dangerous, treacherous, _deadly_ way to fall in love.

Because I'm supposed to be the string that upholds the lost cause that his life represents.

I am deeply heartbroken.

" **If I can't be put to rest then I wished I was free from them, for once and for all. Just then I could run away…. far… far away with you. Away from everyone and everything except you. Far enough that I am finally given a new chance to live by my victories and by my own mistakes. A chance to forget about my bloodline and what they have cursed me to do. I wished I was free so I could choose to stop being a Naess… Just then I could be completely yours. As for now, you can have what is still mine and only mine. That is my heart."**

As my client seated on the other side of my desk, I realized that I would have to speak up. No more eluding answers and shirking rejoinders on E-mails no more missed-calls and rescheduled appointments, I appallingly knew that I had to give him up.

I felt irritated as I watched my client contemplate the papers in front. I opened one of my desk's drawers "I already have his spoken confession, the report is complete." At his immediate silence, I finished. "It was a privilege to work with you."

I breathed out in spite of my shrunken lungs' debility to function. I handed him my report and he rapidly flipped the various pages for his inspection. I remained in silence. I couldn't help but question myself; which were the footings in which they engrained so they could sentence someone to death? Are the intricate lies you croon to a lover, stark enough not to outvote those from being confessionary material? Was my report enough to condemn him?

"Right," he nodded leisurely as he finished flipping the book up. He looked back at me, skeptical and way too solemn to break eye-contact. I raised an eyebrow, almost challengingly. I was already pissed that he didn't notify me in advance from coming to my office but having my heart broken over an unfairly pursued man wasn't helping my lack of patience nor his basis, even if I tried. If they were going to murder Aksel anyways and regardless of their lack of proof then why bother giving me such an unnecessarily sybaritic, hedonistic task? I waited in stillness for his next words, "Where can I hear the recording of it?"

"What recording?" I asked, having stopped to stare at him. Blatantly calm and serene, I continued after I didn't hear a response "We closed our terms in significances that seemed rushed in what was my professional opinion. I voiced my concern from the very beginning." I placed my cheek on my hand, already tired of this circus "I was clarified that the desired results were to be a sole 'confession'. The petition was so oddly vague, that I recall having to ask about you looking up for what you deemed were 'reasons' enough to finish Aksel Naess off." I exhaled, somehow too acerbic to remain professional "If you ask me, I wouldn't have paid an information broker to gather a confession. That will always mean his words are against yours and this, - _papers_ " I tapped the black folder, "That can also mean nothing."

I clenched my jaw and I hear my client's sole kick against the wooden floor and he sighs in frustration, "What does that mean Mr. Informant? Pardon my ignorance but nothing seems to be clear enough to me. Did you meant to say that you are done-"

I cleared my throat, rightfully interrupting him and I leaned back against my chair, "Yes, it means I am done." I was still a cold mercenary and surely enough, I was paid to do exactly what I did. "I'll explain myself better; as you may see," I started slowly, "I do have a report around a spoken confession of him wishing he wasn't tied to his family's business." I bestow that my job is not that of a hitman but of an information broker and yet somehow I've come to think that they come pretty close when they ought to hold people's lives within their obscure cobweb.

Suddenly, I felt hope. I thought I found a dangerous rabbit hole in which I was granted the frail possibility to save him and finish this without any other collateral damage. Without us being torn apart.

He stood perilously silent in a way that made my restless heart barrel violently against my ribcage. "I don't think that is enough to seal our deal, Mr. Informant." The grim ordeal punctured my aching chest and I admittedly felt like I made the wrong choice. I was probably playing with something more hazardous than fire.

I innocently questioned him "It isn't?"

"It is not Mr. Informant." His forehead creased. It was in that moment that I noticed my hands were icy-cold, "Those words are too mere to wrap-up this trial against him."

"Trial?" I inquired as I raised both my eyebrows. My fingers laced and I listened.

"Internal trial." He clarified and then shoddily snickered, "There is not law-enforcement involved of course" He continued "Your investigation is important as you may understand. So Mr. Informant, I want any confession of his to be recorded."

"A recording of the matter will obviously take more time and precedent planning. I'm an honest informant. I gave you what you paid me for. You may understand that what I did is not a three-week job and that I always happened to question myself how my words would pent up anything that you wanted to convey against him. I do the jobs, it is not for me to question those."

"In that case… it is safe to say that I am not… _at all_ , satisfied with your services Mr. Informant."

…

"I am sorry to hear that, but that is what you paid me to do. You may also understand that a recording was never included in our terms so there is just so much that I can say."

"Record his confession. I'll pay for your services again."

…

…

…

 _Sometimes, my power isn't enough._

I scoffed and my stomach dropped again "…I will have something in two months or so."

"Alright." he dismissed the apparent reluctance as he sniggered, "You see, Mr. Informant. It is an urgency of mine to have the words recorded. Without the right words displayed; I lose and he? He'll live," he lowered his voice, "Nobody suspects a thing from him. Sometimes, I think that I am the _only one_ with a brain up there. Without an accurate report, I'm just a cousin that doesn't get the right vibe out of him."

… _Or maybe it is?_

For more than one reason, my eyes widened.

"Good to know." I smiled, "Let me take the papers I gave you back then." I grabbed the black folder from his reach. "I will need these. Hope you don't mind."

He eyed me skeptical for a moment, then he nodded and grinned, "I don't."

Good.

Sometimes, my power _is_ enough.

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End file.
